Yes, Darling, Kiss Satan Like You Did Me
by Rekkuza1
Summary: I am coming back to you, so don't you dare prance away from me, my little ballerina. I know how much you missed me. Can be read alone, or in companion to, "No Honey, Death isn't the End."
1. Chapter 1

Hello again, after many years. I decided to finish what I started a long time ago, because this story has been haunting me for a while. Orochimaru deserves for the readers to hear his part of the story, and I took the liberty to do him justice. Poor guy. And for the readers out there: You don't have to, but if you want to be enlightened by the whole picture, in other words, read Anko's part of the tale, then feel free to do so. This story is informative by itself for the reader to know what's going on, however.

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Chapter 1

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_Power- the possession of control and command over others._

_

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_It all started in my wee years, upon watching a beetle squirming in pain in a pool of acid, exerting all the strength it could summon within its puny body to fight for one more second of existence. I had just seen it walking on the pavement, minding its own business, and thought playing with it was good medicine to cure my boredom.

Torturing bugs had been an ordinary past time for listless young boys everywhere, since the dawn of civilization. They simply did it to kill time, to find a temporary source of amusement that would distract them from their eternally bleak livelihood just so that time could inch forward a little bit more. Then, it would been a few more minutes for which they stayed alive, and nothing else. No one ever thought any more of it.

But I found it rather thrilling that I was able to control the moment and manner of death for that living creature, which otherwise would have happened by natural, helpless causes. I, of all people, decided where the beetle ought to and ought not to go, simply by the twig in my hand, and eventually ushered it to its demise only because I thought it fit. I became its God, as I had absolute dominion over it, and that idea struck me like none other.

Then I wondered to myself, what more would I be capable of?

I spent all the time I had on Earth finding the answer to that question. It took just that one epiphanic, almost prophetic moment I had as a child to shape the course for the rest of my life, as insignificant as it may seem to any average person. Though I took it as a mental challenge to myself to kill time at first, my search for power soon became more important to me than just a hobby. There was no feeling in the world like towering over my subjects and watch them tend to my every whim in reverence, fearful of the wrath that would plague them if they stepped out of line. It made me feel more than a mere human, who was only autocratic over himself. I was able to step out of my own mortal and weak body, to influence and possess others. Make them do what I want, and only so, as I sit back with a glass of wine, and watch my own puppet show.

I lusted after that feeling, like how Anko Mitarashi lusted after me.

If I miss having any of my previous possessions, it would be her, Anko, the pretty little doll that I had crafted and groomed with my own bare hands. Sculpted from the silkiest porcelain, by malice's butterfly touch. Kilned by fine tuned embers of lasciviousness sewn into velvety words. My divine artistry coruscated from the surface of her rosy cheeks, flared from those intense chocolate eyes. She was my most prized piece. Now, she is but a sleeping beauty, peaceful and ever so silent in her casket, bedded by withered roses. Maggots are welcome to have the body, my playtime with it was over long ago.

She was just done up so well, like a doll. The perfect subject to my power, whose mind and body I was able to manoeuvre with such grace, that she might as well as had been one of my faithful limbs.

I first found her, an abandoned orphan in the rain. Alone, afraid, and perfectly fragile. It didn't take much, but a well executed smile to lure this sodden puppy into my arms. She had been so deprived of affection at such a young age, that I took the golden opportunity to convince her that I, the only person who bothered to take notice of her, actually cared for her deeply. Anko was young and sweet, and was desperate to give anybody the heart that she took right from her sleeve. Her mind was pure, like a fresh piece of parchment just begging to be tainted by ink. I gave her my hand and she took it; I spoke my words and she believed them.

When I wanted to complicate matters to make them more amusing, I implanted this notion to grow inside of her, by adding a pinch of sensuality to the manner in which I spoke and looked at who was once only my child. It released her carnal passion and ripened her ability to lust.

Those feelings were completely unknown to her before, and her mind was way too young, and therefore too shallow to grasp. Therefore, I was given complete control in to what extent she would feel said emotion. So, I lulled down the fire just enough so she could be lead, like the shy, passive virgin she was, into my bedroom, instead of pouncing on me during her first time.

I gave her an offer she couldn't possibly refuse that night, and luxury she would beseech me for, for the rest of her life. I allowed enough room for her to make some sort of a struggle underneath me, because she just looked so beautiful, squirming in pain, with small crystal beads running frantically from her eyes. Her fear rose as the most pungent scent in that dank, musty room, as every part of her trembled and shook almost electrically. She had felt it immensely, and she was so scared that I was going to hurt her. Her heart blasted violently against the dome of her chest, yet gracefully, like there was a symphony playing only for me to hear.

But the dust was soon to settle, and she did give in to me almost worshiping her body. In the end, she was a pampered princess, eyes sparkling, body sweaty, and a satisfied moan escaped from those cherry lips as I kissed her forehead goodnight. In my arms, and only in my arms was she royalty, and got more than a social reject like her would ever hoped to have had.

Once a taste of me brushed the surface of her tongue, she went after me like a famished lion.

I would never stay too long after each time I laid with her; I was not born simply to please others. Instead, I would leave to tend other matters, to let her dear anger that arose from the shame of abandonment churn, and her voracious lust for what I can only give to her to intensify. I allotted some time in which she could only have me inside of her mind, where she would be left alone, on her bed, with nothing but memories to keep her sane. It was very cruel of me to only toss at her love made by my mental ghost during those times, but I needed my share of pleasure. The sex was only to keep her eternally bound to me as I pried deeper and deeper into her soul, until she was both physically and mentally mine, for good.

How I loved to see her angry, pounding the fists that can instantly demolish brick walls helplessly into her bed. She screamed, roared, at what most of the time was just thin air about all the luscious brutalities that she would afflict upon me, vengeful that I left her so suddenly. She was very vivid and rather creative in describing all the different ways with which she would kill me and often satisfied herself with these fantasies. While on the other hand, I indulged in how delicious her inevitable failure would taste. No music on Earth was as pleasing to my ear as her song, and I gave myself every opportunity to attend her concerts. Hatred, pure hatred oozed from those words, just pleading to be dripped into my mouth.

I even sometimes allowed her anger to simmer just a bit longer, that she would come find me to try to kill me. She was so cute, brows furrowing and lips pouting in concentration, trying to work up what she believed to be deadly tactics, while I shatter them with but a finger lift. She would punch and kick until her poor limbs grew sore while I stayed pristine, untouched, and more than ready to have her keel over into my arms. I could have taken advantage of her unconscious body, but deemed it not worth my time. I was not like greedy Anko, who, despite how angry she had been seconds ago, in the name of pleasure, would throw away all her pride and die for another night in bed with me if I gave her the offer.

The fact that I could overcome who was one of the most respected and infallible shinobis in the country like it was child's play, was more than enough.

No matter how much I made her suffer, and how much she would hate me for it, we both knew that she could never live without me. All of me, my image, laughter, scent, touch was embedded within the very core of her existence. Without me, she could never manage; she would wizen and shrivel in that cold world alone, as I had become her single source for all passion. Before that happened, I loved to watch my little doll be not only angry, but in pain for my sake. Whenever I felt that she was feeling too well, too content for my liking, I took the liberty to remind her, amidst our cloud of fervour, through many gentle kisses and tender love bites, that I was indeed in love with her. She believed my lies of course, since my impeccably sincere tone among many other satisfying physical persuasions would not have implied otherwise. Love was, in our game, a fatal poison, as it would aggravate her suffering until she was mentally exhausted, even half-dead. Stupid girl, she kissed me back as romantically as possible, as if to prove herself wrong and wash away the guilt of not reciprocating my supposed love, though ever so violently, because she was just seconds away from losing it. Her saliva tasted bitter, shoddy, like the worthlessness that she felt, thinking that she was such a whore for having cheated my heart. I would play along, of course, renouncing my undying affection like a hopeless romantic reading out verses from a play, and holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world. The shame of her lust for me suffocated her, and she felt dirty, hating the lustful monster that she had become. I could only chuckle on the inside, as her shuddering, heavy breaths licked my ears with delight. She whispered "I'm sorry," repeatedly, her voice hollowing after every sentence, until she eventually became silent. I wiped the tears away from her face, jewels they were, my reward for yet another successful torturing session.

I did as I pleased with her, because she forever belonged to me.

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Please review, much thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

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_I was standing on the summit of a mountain with clouds floating around me, as my eyes scanned across the bloody, majestic expanse below, the relic of my victory. Satisfied laughter launched from the deepest pit of my chest echoed for miles, riding the thunderous winds, and was carried to the furthest reaches of my kingdom. Underneath the disarray of corpses and rusty weapons laid fresh soil on which a new empire would bud and flourish, one in which only I held the crown. The thousands of minions, my minions, would line up, in chains, to kneel in front of me and kiss my feet in fear, as I sat on my throne, adorned in the finest robes. _

For many years of my life, I was only able muse over this in my dreams, until I acquired the sufficient skill to paint this panorama on reality's slippery canvas. I deemed Konoha, the most prosperous village in the Fire Country, as a worthy target of my ambitions. Reasonably attainable, but not without certain obstacles to make my eventual victory much more desirable.

The challenge was dethroning Tsunade, the hokage, as the height of her strength metre barred so dangerously close with mine. She was too skilled a shinobi for me to take down single-handedly, and I was not impetuous nor desperate enough to try. Not to mention, I also had to defeat dozens of the most outstanding ninjas in the country who protected Konoha with the utmost fortitude like it was erected from diamonds. Traditional, direct warfare was simply no way to penetrate Konoha's fortress, as such effrontery would only make us victims for their stubborn strength.

Thus, I engineered a new gambit, one in which the village would be destroyed from the inside out, crumbled by its own strength. It obligated for me to secretly avert the allegiance of one of those warriors into my wing, and she would become the snake in the grass to the village's delicate inner mechanisms. They would have been wrong to trust her, as she was to throw them into a quagmire from which would be difficult to resurface. Thus, launching a successful attack on an already weakened and confounded Konoha would be extremely easy, without as much loss on my part.

Anko, of course, was initially adopted because she was to become that one progeny. A weak-minded child, starved of attention, she was more than willing to surrender her whole world to me, in exchange for a mote of affection. It was extremely easy to convince her to fight, or do anything, for my sake, as her flowery innocence would have not told her any better.

However, I was taken aback at the extraordinary potential in ninjutsu she possessed. Even though I ended up abandoning her to shop for more potential protegees, no one had ever come close to matching the immensity of her calibre. She took all my teachings to heart, and did everything she could to win my approval, no matter how slight, never minding the bruises and scars that were left on her young body. She now had something that she wanted all her life, and therefore, the endurance of the physical pain it caused became child's play in her eyes.

When training, she knew exactly what I wanted, how to kick, punch, when to jump, before I even opened my mouth. Never was there such intense chemistry seething between a trainee and I, that it was as if her very spirit waltzed with mine. Her body became the mirror of my mind, as she emulated her movements to what I had envisioned with divine accuracy and precision. We needed not to communicate verbally; the act of stringing words together in order to express ideas was tossed aside due to its disgraceful inefficiency.

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She was perfect, in so many different ways.

Her eyes, forever glistening with ardour, like a fire that couldn't be quenched, always beckoned for more and more of me. All those forbidden techniques that had my other students cower in fear only excited her. The titanic amounts of pleasure that I had slammed into those muscular, yet tender legs only made her more hungry, as if she had no other purpose in life but to bleed to death with rapture.

Whenever her anger was provoked, the beast inside of her that I had defined as her true nature, would immediately, almost reflexively erupt from the infernal flames toiling in her gut and crash out her gates like a mad sea. Orange and red sparks shot out from those pitch-black pupils, and her lavender hair grew wild and aflame. She overcame everything that stood in her path. All that dared to fight back would fall victim to her ever-crescendoing fury, and be crumbled to dust by her bare hands.

I loved when she was like that, driven not by reason, but by passion alone, because only I was able to abduct the fazed goddess from her heights when she least expected it, and bend and meld her into my amusement. Maybe I should have taught Anko better to stay vigilant and arm herself for combat at all times. I should have, but didn't, because I still wanted to leave a few tender dents for me to probe at on her otherwise metallic exterior. To humour myself.

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_Not warmth, but only ice vapour escaped now from waned lips that once swelled with saturated red._

_Her complexion deadened. Her skin was frozen. Her eyes were grey and bleak, the colour of the soot that her fire had been reduced to. Their glow subsided, replaced by the bitter frost that ate through her irises, and the rest of her body. The beast has deserted its once viable host, leaving her but an empty shell of what she had been. _

_I was the only person in the world who could reduce her to this, depleted of the strength to even speak or move an inch. Completely vulnerable to anyone with a sodden mind, the most she could manage to do was lock her eyelids shut as my fingertips came closer in contact with her. I smiled. I wasn't going to hurt her any more than I already had. I played with my doll until she was threadbare, but if she was truly broken, it would be no fun. _

_My ownership was branded with gold on her whole body, as bright as the sun, from the rivers of her flowing tears, down to the peaks of her ample breasts, across the plane of her stomach, and through the valley between those delicate legs. I was the sole creator of all these wonders, and how they heeded to my authority! Skin became supple as my lips kissed, let blood when my teeth incised. Limbs shuddered when my fingers touched. And now, I had lulled her aura down to but gentle, murmuring wisps, and she smelt of subservience, like light rain, or green tea, to be poured right into my power. I was winning the war in conquering the empire that grew not from war-torn deadlands, but instead, from within her womb_.

Upon seeing her like this, my victory paved right in front of me, I threw my previous ambitions of overthrowing Tsunade into oblivion. I would give up Konoha, even the whole world, just to hear her sweet cries, for there was no other entity in the world that could heed to my dominance so intimately, that I could manipulate with such elegance. Nothing could compare to my Anko, lying supine on an altar of a bed, adorned by nakedness, waiting just for me...

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But what would become of her in the end, when Death comes, bearing his knife to take her away from me? I simply couldn't amount to rivaling against destiny. Anko was bound to eventually be cast off to rot in the ground, her porcelain reduced to ashes, and I couldn't do anything about it.

And what would become of us?

We would have been nothing but a mere tryst, short-lived and petty, our once strong bond dismembered by time's angry winds. I couldn't possibly let her be exiled into the abyss, alone. She was to be chained at nape of her neck to me for an eternity, kneel at my command, be at my mercy. In her world, there must not be Death. There was me, and only me.

I knew I had to somehow meld a fragment of my soul with hers so that I would be with her, when corporeally, I wasn't. She could galloped away on Death's chariot at light's speed, but I, who would be locked so intimately in her heart's chambers, could still whisper kisses to her. Only then would I have sunk my teeth in her so profoundly that no natural nor supernatural force in the universe could take her away from me. Only then would I have finally claimed my throne within her, to have my reign cast in stone.

For all of that to happen, she would have to kill me.

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Of course, for to be crowned her emperor, I deemed trivial the loss of what was merely the physical vehicle of my soul, a weightless sacrifice.

It didn't take much convincing at all for Anko to throw a kunai at me either, and I taught her well enough to have had it not land so ridiculously amiss.

Oh, my dearest, she had finally done it, handed her fate right at my feet, like the good little girl she was. How could anyone not find her foolishness utterly adorable?

Those very hands that killed me were just nights before touching me everywhere, in every way possible, just so she could prove all that she felt for me. I was rather patient with her trying to enlighten me with information that I, the very architect of all her sentiments, had already known. Though I was lightly amused with the desperate tone in which she told me, like she had somehow already known what was approaching in the wake. Yanking my hair away and clutching my face, she allowed her mouth to explode in mine, her tongue stabbed into my depths, as it tried to extract the flavours it morbidly craved. She was so ferocious with me that it was unclear whether she was trying to make love, or have me as a meal. Choking her arms and legs around me, she begged in the most ragged and breathless voice for me to never leave her, because she couldn't possibly live without me.

She was right, because I made sure that after my death, the extent of her suffering would harshen tenfold. I licked my lips in zeal.

Her poor head was spun out of control in a mental maelstrom that bent and pulled her in every painful angle possible. The guilt she felt was beyond human comprehension, for having killed me, the only person who ever bothered to give her enough attention to make her feel human. She hated herself, for having been asinine enough to cut off her only lifeline. She could never taste me, nor be alive again.

She withered, from the lack of my touch, even if she did everything she could to escape reality, which usually meant drinking until she could feel and think no more. I became her phantom. She couldn't keep awake during the day without my searing image blinding and bleeding her eyes. She couldn't sleep at night without my laughter echoing across her mind, pounding against her skull, making the knives in her stomach twist with malice.

In an attempt to distract herself, she let loose her hedonism like a pack of wild dogs, whether it be parading in unsafe areas at night to debauch with everything she saw, or drowning herself in enough alcohol to have killed a man twice her size. She came home every night littered with alien specimens, bites, and bruises, leaving her worried husband to bathe her clean. The little devil, only when she was drunk and being filled up to the brim with by random men would she not, due to the mental incapability to, think painful thoughts of me. She went through the most extreme means to uplift what I had cursed upon her, if only for a few moments. She so desperately wanted to breathe again, even if only cigarette smoke and burning liquor entered her lungs.

I became more than who was all she could about. I was now embedded in the very core of her soul, because when she eventually would be lying alone in her room, stripped clean of any intoxicating distractions and was snapped back to being dangled mere milimetres above madness once more, she could only grasp onto our memories, and nothing else, as her last chance at sanity.

But one thing was bound to _kill_ her, to beguile her into joining me- this poison, suspended in a sickly green vial that I held between my fingers, bubbling expectantly to seep into its prey.

It was to make her realize one true fact out of the myriads of lies I had told her.

That I didn't love her at all.

"_I had really loved you_," I had said at last, before descending into silence for the rest of my time with her.

But I said those words so flippantly, articulated my words so they _screamed _of carelessness that someone as thick as her was bound to make sense of my almost offensively conspicuous implications.

And just like that, all her hopes, hopes that I died loving her, the last comforting thought that was to become her only thin coat from the imminent storm, shattered.

I would have loved to see her dying slowly. Anko rolling on the cold floor, drowning in icy sweat. Anko bluntly hitting the objects in her room until her knuckles bled. Anko skirting around empty whiskey bottles, feet moving lithely in a drunken tango just to eventually fall from grace. Her sanity, beauty, everything she had washed away by the rain, under which she spun madly until she retched, leaving her in nothing but rags. Sodden, demented, but nevertheless beautiful. Her finale would have been her most astounding performance yet.

Eventually, she would be escorted safely into Death's arms, for what more does she have to live for?

Yet, she would still be mine, because the thoughts and memories of me, my soul, would still continue to haunt every ounce of her. For eternity.

And no matter how much she suffered, she couldn't kill herself again.

She would be in pain forever, just like how I wanted my little doll to be.

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How is Anko doing now, I wonder?

Having been killed in my previous human body, I have had to borrow that of a serpent, and lived a bleak, lowly existence for too many years. The glories of my previous life have faded to nothing but faint recollections, as all I do nowadays is hunt rodents to survive. To survive, not live, waiting in despair for the dawn of better days.

There is more than this waiting for me in the wake, more than having to crawl the Earth as a weak animal, hiding behind bushes to avoid being preyed upon. Time has ripened. I must go to her now. Somewhere, above or below, in the ocean of dimensions, is a fragment of my soul and an empire waiting to be reclaimed.

I must rise again.

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